The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold (7 page)

“Mr. Morgan?” Annabelle said, her voice taut with worry.

“Move off to the side, Doctor,” he told her. His eyes never left the three men as he spoke. He was at another disadvantage there, because they had the light from outside behind them. The late afternoon sun wasn’t as bright as if it had been midday, but even so, the men in the doorway were little more than silhouettes to The Kid.

He kept his eyes on them anyway, watching for any telltale twitches or other involuntary movements before they slapped leather.

Annabelle hadn’t moved. She asked, “Is there going to be trouble of some sort? Should I try to find the local authorities?”

One of the men laughed. “You do that, missy,” he said. “You go find the local authorities.”

Annabelle stiffened and took a step toward them. “How dare you mock me!” she said. “I’ll have you know that I’m a doctor!”

“Good. Your friend there’s gonna need a sawbones when we get through with him.”

“More likely an undertaker,” added one of the other men.

“Dr. Dare,” The Kid said between clenched teeth. “Annabelle.
Get the hell out of the way
.”

“Oh!” she said. But she moved; that was the important thing as far as The Kid was concerned. Carrying the box she had taken from him, she edged away, if not completely out of any possible line of fire, at least farther away from it.

“I just came in here for supplies,” The Kid told the men in the doorway. “I wasn’t looking for trouble.”

“You found it anyway, mister. We been hearin’ all over the territory about this gun-thrower who calls hisself Kid Morgan. That’d be you, right?”

The Kid knew there was no point in denying it. “I’m Kid Morgan,” he said.

“My name’s Culhane,” said the man in the middle of the trio. He nodded to the man on his right. “Jericho.” And on his left. “Mawson.”

“Can’t say as I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Reckon not, since we’re the men who’re gonna kill you.”

At first, The Kid had heard a lot of scurrying around behind him. He knew the clerks and the other customers were hunting cover. Now an uneasy silence hung over the store. The Kid didn’t hear anyone moving around.

“Doctor,” he said.

“Wh-what is it, Mr. Morgan?”

“You see anyone else besides me and these three hombres in here?”

“No,” Annabelle said. “Everyone’s hiding. It’s like the store is empty except for us.”

“Good.” The Kid addressed the three men in the doorway. “Culhane, you and your pards just back on out of here, and nobody has to die.”

“You got that wrong,” the gunman called Mawson said. “You have to die, Morgan, if we’re gonna be famous.”

“Famous for gunning down a man when the odds are three to one in your favor? A man who has his hands full and can’t even reach for a gun?”

“People will forget the details,” Culhane said. “They’ll just remember that we’re the men who killed Kid Morgan. And you can drop that box any time you want to. In fact, you’d better do it right about—”

The Kid saw the tiny, almost imperceptible lift of their shoulders as they tensed to draw. At that same moment, a side door into the store opened and the little boy who had talked to The Kid earlier ran in, saying, “Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan!”

The Kid didn’t drop the box of supplies. He threw it at the three gunmen, sending it sailing through the air toward them. Instinct made them duck away from it, even though it didn’t reach them but crashed to the floor in front of them.

By the time the box hit the floorboards, The Kid’s Colt was in his hand, spewing flame. It roared and bucked against his palm. His first shot punched into Culhane’s chest, knocking the gunman back a step. The Kid had no way of knowing which of the three men was the fastest on the draw. It was just a gamble, no matter what he did. But Culhane was a loudmouth, so he got the first bullet.

A shaved instant of time later, The Kid’s second bullet broke Mawson’s shoulder and spun him half around. That was the moment The Kid realized he had made a mistake. He should have started at one end or the other. Now he had to backtrack to kill Jericho, and if the man was fast at all—

He was. The gun in Jericho’s hand blasted. He had gotten a shot off, which was more than Culhane or Mawson had managed. The Kid heard the wind-rip of the slug past his ear as he shifted his aim and fired again. Jericho doubled over as the bullet ripped into his gut. He stumbled forward and forced his head up as he tried to lift his gun for another shot. The Kid put a round between his eyes. Jericho’s head jerked, and he collapsed.

The only one still on his feet was Mawson. His right arm hung useless at his side. He had dropped his gun. But his left hand darted behind his neck and came out with a knife that was hidden in a sheath that hung down his back. He screamed a curse as he threw the knife at The Kid.

Twisting to the side, The Kid fired instinctively at Mawson as the spinning blade flickered past his eyes. He heard it thud into something behind him. Mawson toppled to the floor, blood spurting from his neck where The Kid’s bullet had torn it open. His bootheels drummed against the boards as he died.

The whole thing had taken about five seconds, even though to The Kid’s danger-heightened senses it had seemed considerably longer. As the deafening echoes of the shots began to die away, he glanced over at Annabelle, who’d had the good sense to drop the supplies and hit the floor when all hell broke loose.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

She looked up at him, swallowed hard, and nodded.

The Kid turned his head to look the other way and smiled at the little boy, who stood there with his eyes so wide it seemed like they were about to pop out of his head. Part of a licorice whip still dangled from his grubby hand.

“How about you, son? You’re not hurt, are you?”

The boy found his voice after a couple of seconds. “N-no, sir, Mr. Morgan.”

“Stay right there,” The Kid told him and strode forward to check on the three would-be gunfighters.

It was easy to see that Mawson was dead; a huge pool of blood surrounded his head. The Kid had put a bullet in Jericho’s brain, so he knew Jericho wasn’t a threat anymore. That left Culhane, who had landed with his head on the porch and the rest of his body in the store. The Kid saw the lifeless eyes staring upward and knew that Culhane was dead, too.

He had killed three men in less than five seconds. That was just going to add to his growing reputation, and someday, some other hombre who fancied himself fast on the draw would throw down on him because of it. But the alternative would have been to stand there and let those three bastards kill him, and The Kid was damned if he was going to do that.

As he walked toward the back of the store, he saw Mawson’s knife stuck in the side of a cracker barrel. It was still quivering a little bit. The Kid broke open the Colt and started thumbing fresh rounds into it from the loops on his gunbelt as he walked over to the little boy. When he had finished reloading, he slid the gun back into leather and knelt in front of the wide-eyed youngster.

“What can I do for you, amigo?”

The boy had to swallow again before he could answer. “I…I heard some men talking,” he said. “They were sayin’ they were gonna come over here and…and shoot you, Mr. Morgan.” He pointed a shaky finger at the ventilated corpses. “It was them right there.”

The Kid nodded. “I figured as much. Did you come to warn me?”

“Yeah.” The little boy looked miserable. “I should’a come right away, but Billy McLaughlin’s got a new puppy, and he was showin’ it to me…and I…I sort of forgot for a minute. I’m sorry!”

“That’s all right,” The Kid told him. “I understand how it is with puppies. What’s your name, son?”

“Jamie, sir.”

“Well, Jamie, some fellas would’ve been too scared to even think about coming over here to warn me. They’d be afraid that they’d wind up in the middle of a gunfight.”

“The way I almost did!” Jamie said.

“Yeah,” The Kid agreed. “The way you almost did. I just want you to know I appreciate what you did, and I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

“You killed those three men!”

The Kid nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I did. They didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”

“I never saw anything like that before! You must be the fastest draw in the world!”

“Nope. There are men who are faster.”

“That don’t seem possible.”

“Take my word for it,” The Kid said. He straightened. Folks were coming out of hiding in the store now. Annabelle had come up behind him and stood there with the box of supplies she had picked up. “You’d better run along home now. And don’t be surprised if your ma’s a mite put out when she hears about this. Mothers are like that about their young’uns being in a place where a lot of bullets are flying around.”

“Okay, Mr. Morgan.” Jamie paused. “I really am sorry I didn’t come and tell you sooner.”

“It’s all right.”

The Kid watched the youngster hurry out of the store through the side door, since Culhane’s body still blocked the front door.

That didn’t stop the man who appeared in the doorway and stepped over the corpse. He carried a shotgun and looked around the inside of the store with angry dark eyes.

“What the hell’s going on here?” the newcomer demanded. He wore a gray suit and hat. A badge was pinned to the lapel of the coat.

The Kid lifted his hands so that the lawman could see they were empty. Never give a man holding a shotgun an excuse to get nervous, he thought.

“Take it easy, Sheriff,” he said. “The shooting is all over.”

“I’ll decide when things can be took easy and when they can’t,” the man snapped. “What happened here?”

The clerk who had filled the order for The Kid and Annabelle spoke up from behind the counter. “It wasn’t this fella’s fault, Sheriff Lipscomb,” he said. “He and the lady were minding their own business when Culhane and those two cronies of his came in and started threatening them. They were going to kill Mr. Morgan here.”

Several other customers who had seen the whole thing—or at least all of it until the shooting started—chimed in to support what the clerk said. Sheriff Lipscomb lowered the greener and came further into the store. He checked the bodies, then frowned at The Kid.

“You shot all three of them?”

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” The Kid said.

“And how many shots did they get off?”

The clerk answered that question. “One! I was peeking around the end of the counter and saw it. Slickest thing ever, Sheriff, the way Mr. Morgan drew his gun and shot them.”

Lipscomb grunted. “Yeah. Slick. Your name’s Morgan, eh?”

“That’s right.”

“Can’t be Frank Morgan. He’d be a lot older than you, if he’s even still alive.”

“He’s still alive,” The Kid said. “You can count on that.”

“Then you must be the one I’ve heard some talk about. Kid Morgan, or something like that.”

The Kid nodded.

“Did you come in here to buy supplies?” the sheriff asked.

“That’s right.”

“Well, here’s what you do. Take your supplies and get the hell out of my town.”

The words were flat and hard, the sort that brooked no argument. The Kid gave him one anyway. “My friends and I were going to spend the night here.”

The sheriff shook his head. “Your friends are welcome in Las Cruces. You ain’t. I want you gone before the sun sets.” He nodded toward the bodies. “You see, Culhane had more friends than just Mawson and Jericho. I don’t want any more gunfights around here.”

The Kid had heard his father talk about things like that. Lawmen across the West disliked and distrusted Frank Morgan on sight, simply because of his reputation, even though Frank had never started a fight and had gone out of his way at times to avoid them.

But that didn’t make any real difference. Violence followed him anyway.

It was starting to dog The Kid’s trail, too.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

“And so will we,” Annabelle declared with an angry glare directed toward the local lawman. “If you’re not welcome, Mr. Morgan, then neither are we, regardless of what this gentleman says.”

“I don’t mind if you stay here tonight. We can meet up again tomorrow—”

“Nonsense.”

The Kid was relieved. He didn’t really like the idea of having Annabelle and Father Jardine that far out of his sight overnight. He didn’t know if Fortunato was really as dangerous as Annabelle seemed to believe, but there was no point in taking unnecessary chances. It would be better if they all stuck together.

“Fine,” he said as he bent to pick up the supplies that had scattered from the box he’d tossed at the three gunmen. “I reckon we’ll push on, even if it is late.”

He was confident that he could find an acceptable place to camp for the night. They would have to be more watchful than ever, though. If Culhane had friends who might be upset about his death, as Sheriff Lipscomb had implied, then those hombres might decide to come after the man who’d killed him and try to even the score.

So there might be a few more people who wanted him dead, The Kid thought as he left the store with Annabelle and placed the supplies in the wagon.

That number seemed to be growing all the time.

Father Jardine was nowhere in sight. The Kid nodded toward the mission at the other end of the street and said, “He’s probably still down there visiting with the local priest. Why don’t you go get him?”

“You could come with me,” Annabelle suggested.

The Kid shook his head. “I’m not sure the padre would think that a killer like me was fit to set foot inside a church.”

“I thought everyone was supposed to be welcome in a church.”

“Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Doesn’t mean that’s always the way it is.” The Kid nodded toward the wagon. “Anyway, somebody ought to stay here and keep an eye on your outfit and the supplies.”

“Isn’t it
our
outfit now, since you’ve joined forces with us, Mr. Morgan?”

The Kid grunted. “Not hardly. I’m just along for the ride.”

Annabelle didn’t say anything to that. She just gave The Kid a look he couldn’t read, then started down the street toward the church.

He leaned against the wagon. Quite a few people were gathered around the general store, having been drawn by the sound of shots, and most of them were looking at him and trying not to stare. The Kid felt their eyes on him. He knew what they were saying as they whispered among themselves.

Gunfighter, I hear…Killed three men, just like that…Wonder how much blood he’s got on his hands?

The Kid was learning to ignore reactions like that. As long as he was Kid Morgan, that was the way people were going to act around him.

Sheriff Lipscomb stepped out onto the porch a moment later. “You haven’t left yet?” he asked curtly when he saw The Kid.

“It’s only been a few minutes, Sheriff. The lady’s gone to fetch our other friend. He’s down at the church.”

“As soon as they get back, I want you out of town.”

“We’ll leave…as soon as we’ve topped off our water barrels at the well.” The Kid wasn’t about to start into the Jornado del Muerto without those barrels being full to the brim. “No law against us using the water, is there?”

“It’s a public well,” Lipscomb replied, although he sounded like he wished he could refuse to let The Kid and his companions draw water from it. “Undertaker ought to be here soon.”

The Kid nodded. Lipscomb had dragged Culhane’s body into the store, so that his head wasn’t on the porch anymore. The Kid figured most, if not all, of the customers had cleared out, not wanting to share the store with three corpses.

“I imagine there’s always a lot of work for the undertaker wherever you go,” Lipscomb went on.

“I get it, Sheriff. You don’t want me around. I said we’re leaving, but I won’t be rushed.”

Lipscomb shifted the shotgun that was now tucked under his arm. “As long as you get out, that’s all I care about. This is a nice, peaceful town most of the time. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Yeah, thought The Kid, so nice and peaceful that gun-wolves like Culhane and his friends were allowed to walk around unmolested, with guns on their hips, looking for trouble. While
he
, who had done nothing but defend himself, was being run out of town at the point of a shotgun.

Well, nobody had ever claimed life was fair, The Kid reminded himself. He knew that was true from his own bitter experiences.

He glanced along the street and straightened from his casual pose against the wagon when he spotted Father Jardine hurrying toward him. The priest was alone, though. The Kid didn’t see any sign of Dr. Annabelle Dare.

As Father Jardine came closer, The Kid saw that he wore a scared expression on his weathered face.

“Father,” The Kid said as he stepped forward to meet him, “what’s wrong?”

“Men at the church,” Father Jardine panted, slightly out of breath from moving so fast. “They have Dr. Dare!”

The Kid stiffened. “What happened? Were they Fortunato’s men?”

From the store’s front porch, Sheriff Lipscomb asked, “Who’s Fortunato?”

Father Jardine ignored the lawman and shook his head in reply to The Kid’s question. “From some of the things they said, I believe they’re friends of men called Culhane and Mawson and Jericho.” An accusatory frown creased the priest’s forehead. “Men who, according to them, you killed a short time ago, Mr. Morgan.”

The Kid’s hand instinctively started toward his gun. Father Jardine caught the movement, and his frown deepened.

“That’s what got Dr. Dare into the trouble she’s in,” the priest snapped.

“And it’s what’ll get her out of it, too,” The Kid said. “What do they want?”

“They said that you should come down there and face them. If you do, they won’t harm Dr. Dare.”

“What did they do, sneak in the back of the church?” The Kid had been watching the front, and he hadn’t seen anyone except Annabelle go into the sanctuary in the past few minutes.

“That’s right. They had their guns drawn. They threatened me and Father Horatio and took Dr. Dare prisoner.”

“Did they hurt her?”

“Not that I could see, although they were handling her rather roughly.”

The Kid’s jaw tightened in anger when he heard that. He took a step toward the church.

“Hold it!” Sheriff Lipscomb said. “Where do you think you’re going, Morgan?”

“You heard the padre. If I don’t go down there, those hombres are liable to hurt Dr. Dare.”

“So you’re going to have another gunfight?” Lipscomb shook his head and lifted the scattergun. “I don’t think so.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Damn right I do. I’m going to go down there and put a stop to this.” The sheriff glared at The Kid and added, “You stay right there. That’s an order.”

The Kid wasn’t in the habit of taking orders, especially from overbearing tin stars. But maybe, just maybe, Lipscomb could put a stop to this incident without anybody else getting hurt. The Kid sort of doubted that, but the man was the law there. The Kid supposed he ought to give Lipscomb a chance.

But Annabelle’s life might be at stake, The Kid reminded himself, so he said, “You’d better be careful, Sheriff. They’ve got a prisoner down there, and there’s no telling what they might do.”

“I can handle a bunch of cheap gunmen,” Lipscomb said. He started toward the church, holding the shotgun slanted across his chest in front of him. He glanced around at the crowd and added, “Everybody clear the street. Now!”

People hurried to obey the order. The Kid and Father Jardine stayed where they were, beside the wagon. The priest said quietly, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You and me both, padre,” The Kid agreed. “You and me both.”

Sheriff Lipscomb stalked the length of the street and stopped in front of the church. “You men in there!” he shouted. “Come out with your hands up!”

There was no response from inside the church.

“Let the woman go!” Lipscomb called. “Send Father Horatio out, too!”

Still nothing.

“All right, if that’s the way you want it, by God! I’m coming in! You’re all going to be under arrest!”

Back down the street, The Kid looked on and breathed, “Oh, Lord. He’s dumber than I thought he was.”

The lawman strode toward the heavy double doors of the church. One of the doors opened before he got there, and a hand holding a revolver thrust out.

“Hold it right there, Sheriff,” a man said in a voice that sounded like a wagon traveling over a bad gravel road. The town was so quiet that The Kid could make out the words even from a distance. Everyone seemed to hold their breath to see what was going to happen, “We told that old priest to send Kid Morgan down here.”

“Jackson!” Sheriff Lipscomb said. “Is that you, Lew Jackson? Who else is in there?”

“Never you mind about that,” the gravelly voice of the man inside the church replied. “Just back away now, lawman, and you won’t get hurt. Our fight’s with that low-down bastard who killed Culhane and Mawson and Jericho.”

“There aren’t going to be any more gunfights,” Lipscomb insisted. “Morgan’s down the street, and I’ve given him orders to stay right where he is and let me handle this. That’s what I’m going to do. Now release your prisoners and come on out, or you’re going to find yourself in more trouble than you’ve ever been in before.”

A laugh came from the man called Jackson. “Somehow I doubt that, Sheriff. You ain’t gonna skedaddle, are you?”

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere until you release Father Horatio and the woman and come out with your hands up.”

“You always were an arrogant son of a bitch, star packer.”

The Kid saw Lipscomb lift the shotgun, heard him exclaim, “Why, you—”

Flame geysered from the muzzle of the handgun protruding from the doorway, and the sharp sound of a shot filled the tense silence in the settlement.

The bullet knocked Lipscomb back a couple of steps. He struggled to stay on his feet and lift the shotgun. The weapon slipped through his fingers, though, and thudded to the ground at his feet. The impact made one of the barrels discharge with a dull boom, sending the load of buckshot harmlessly into the air. As the echoes of that blast rolled through the street, Lipscomb turned, pawed at his chest for a second, and then pitched forward on his face.

A shocked Father Jardine stared at the lawman’s body and then began praying in Latin.

“Morgan!” the gravelly voice yelled from inside the church. “You hear me, Morgan?”

The Kid stepped away from the wagon. “I hear you!”

“You saw what just happened, Morgan! I gunned down a lawman! That means we ain’t got nothin’ to lose now! You know what we’ll do to this redheaded gal if you don’t come down here and face us, man to man!”

“Three against one…again,” The Kid muttered. “Folks in this town sure have a funny idea what man to man means.”

Father Jardine gripped The Kid’s arm. “What are you going to do, Mr. Morgan? If they killed the sheriff, they won’t hesitate to hurt Dr. Dare!”

The Kid nodded. “I know.” He pulled loose from the priest. “That’s why I’m going down there.”

“But they’ll just shoot you, too!”

“Not if I shoot them first.” The Kid turned to look at Father Jardine. “And that’s where you come in, padre.”